CHAPTER 68
D'Artagnan continues his Investigations
At daybreak D'Artagnan saddled Furet, who had fared
sumptuously all night, devouring the remainder of the oats
and hay left by his companions. The musketeer sifted all he
possibly could out of the host, whom he found cunning,
mistrustful, and devoted, body and soul, to M. Fouquet. In
order not to awaken the suspicions of this man, he carried
on his fable of being a probable purchaser of some
salt-mines. To have embarked for Belle-Isle at Roche-Bernard
would have been to expose himself still further to comments
which had, perhaps, been already made, and would be carried
to the castle. Moreover, it was singular that this traveler
and his lackey should have remained a mystery to D'Artagnan,
in spite of all the questions addressed by him to the host,
who appeared to know him perfectly well. The musketeer then
made some inquiries concerning the salt-mines, and took the
road to the marshes, leaving the sea on his right, and
penetrating into that vast and desolate plain which
resembles a sea of mud, of which, here and there, a few
crests of salt silver the undulations. Furet walked
admirably, with his little nervous legs, along the foot-wide
causeways which separate the salt-mines. D'Artagnan, aware
of the consequences of a fall, which would result in a cold
bath, allowed him to go as he liked, contenting himself with
looking at, on the horizon, three rocks, that rose up like
lance-blades from the bosom of the plain, destitute of
verdure. Pirial, the bourgs of Batz and Le Croisic, exactly
resembling each other, attracted and suspended his
attention. If the traveler turned round, the better to make
his observations, he saw on the other side an horizon of
three other steeples, Guerande, Le Poulighen, and
Saint-Joachim, which, in their circumference, represented a
set of skittles, of which he and Furet were but the
wandering ball. Pirial was the first little port on his
right. He went thither, with the names of the principal
salters on his lips. At the moment he reached the little
port of Pirial, five large barges, laden with stone, were
leaving it. It appeared strange to D'Artagnan, that stones
should be leaving a country where none are found. He had
recourse to all the amenity of M. Agnan to learn from the
people of the port the cause of this singular arrangement.
An old fisherman replied to M. Agnan, that the stones very
certainly did not come from Pirial or the marshes.
"Where do they come from, then?" asked the musketeer.
"Monsieur, they come from Nantes and Painboeuf."
"Where are they going, then?"
"Monsieur, to Belle-Isle."
"Ah! ah!" said D'Artagnan, in the same tone he had assumed
to tell the printer that his character interested him; "are
they building at Belle-Isle, then?"
"Why, yes, monsieur, M. Fouquet has the walls of the castle
repaired every year."
"Is it in ruins, then?"
"It is old."
"Thank you."
"The fact is," said D'Artagnan to himself, "nothing is more
natural; every proprietor has a right to repair his own
property. It would be like telling me I was fortifying the
Image-de-Notre-Dame, when I was simply obliged to make
repairs. In good truth, I believe false reports have been
made to his majesty, and he is very likely to be in the
wrong."
"You must confess," continued he then, aloud, and addressing
the fisherman -- for his part of a suspicious man was
imposed upon him by the object even of his mission -- "you
must confess, my dear monsieur, that these stones travel in
a very curious fashion."
"How so?" said the fisherman
"They come from Nantes or Painboeuf by the Loire, do they
not?"
"With the tide."
"That is convenient, -- I don't say it is not, but why do
they not go straight from Saint-Nazaire to Belle-Isle?"
"Eh! because the chalands (barges) are fresh-water boats,
and take the sea badly," replied, the fisherman.
"That is not sufficient reason."
"Pardon me, monsieur, one may see that you have never been a
sailor, added the fisherman, not without a sort of disdain.
"Explain that to me, if you please, my good man. It appears
to me that to come from Painboeuf to Pirial, and go from
Pirial to Belle-Isle, is as if we went from Roche-Bernard to
Nantes, and from Nantes to Pirial."
"By water that would be the nearest way," replied the
fisherman imperturbably.
"But there is an elbow?"
The fisherman shook his head.
"The shortest road from one place to another is a straight
line," continued D'Artagnan.
"You forget the tide, monsieur."
"Well! take the tide."
"And the wind."
"Well, and the wind."
"Without doubt, the current of the Loire carries barks
almost as far as Croisic. If they want to lie by a little,
or to refresh the crew, they come to Pirial along the coast;
from Pirial they find another inverse current, which carries
them to the Isle-Dumal, two leagues and a half."
"Granted."
"There the current of the Vilaine throws them upon another
isle, the isle of Hoedic."
"I agree with that."
"Well, monsieur, from that isle to Belle-Isle the way is
quite straight. The sea broken both above and below, passes
like a canal -- like a mirror between the two isles; the
chalands glide along upon it like ducks upon the Loire;
that's how it is."
"It does not signify," said the obstinate M. Agnan; "it is a
long way round."
"Ah! yes; but M. Fouquet will have it so," replied, as
conclusive, the fisherman, taking off his woolen cap at the
enunciation of that respected name.
A look from D'Artagnan, a look as keen and piercing as a
sword-blade, found nothing in the heart of the old man but
simple confidence -- on his features, nothing but
satisfaction and indifference. He said, "M. Fouquet will
have it so," as he would have said, "God has willed it."
D'Artagnan had already advanced too far in this direction;
besides, the chalands being gone, there remained nothing at
Pirial but a single bark -- that of the old man, and it did
not look fit for sea without great preparation. D'Artagnan
therefore patted Furet, who as a new proof of his charming
character, resumed his march with his feet in the
salt-mines, and his nose to the dry wind, which bends the
furze and the broom of this country. They reached Croisic
about five o'clock.
If D'Artagnan had been a poet, it was a beautiful spectacle:
the immense strand of a league or more, the sea covers at
high tide, and which, at the reflux, appears gray and
desolate, strewed with polypi and seaweed, with pebbles
sparse and white, like bones in some vast old cemetery. But
the soldier, the politician, and the ambitious man, had no
longer the sweet consolation of looking towards heaven to
read there a hope or a warning. A red sky signifies nothing
to such people but wind and disturbance. White and fleecy
clouds upon the azure only say that the sea will be smooth
and peaceful. D'Artagnan found the sky blue, the breeze
embalmed with saline perfumes, and he said: "I will embark
with the first tide, if it be but in a nutshell."
At Croisic as at Pirial, he had remarked enormous heaps of
stone lying along the shore. These gigantic walls,
diminished every tide by the barges for Belle-Isle were, in
the eyes of the musketeer, the consequence and the proof of
what he had well divined at Pirial. Was it a wall that M.
Fouquet was constructing? Was it a fortification that he was
erecting? To ascertain that he must make fuller
observations. D'Artagnan put Furet into a stable; supped,
went to bed, and on the morrow took a walk upon the port or
rather upon the shingle. Le Croisic has a port of fifty
feet, it has a look-out which resembles an enormous brioche
(a kind of cake) elevated on a dish. The flat strand is the
dish. Hundreds of barrowsful of earth amalgamated with
pebbles, and rounded into cones, with sinuous. passages
between, are look-outs and brioches at the same time.
It is so now, and it was so two hundred years ago, only the
brioche was not so large, and probably there were to be seen
no trellises of lath around the brioche, which constitute an
ornament, planted like gardes-fous along the passages that
wind towards the little terrace. Upon the shingle lounged
three or four fishermen talking about sardines and shrimps.
D'Artagnan, with his eyes animated by rough gayety, and a
smile upon his lips, approached these fishermen.
"Any fishing going on to-day?" said he.
"Yes, monsieur," replied one of them, "we are only waiting
for the tide."
"Where do you fish, my friends?"
"Upon the coasts, monsieur."
"Which are the best coasts?"
"Ah, that is all according. The tour of the isles, for
example?"
"Yes, but they are a long way off, those isles, are they
not?"
"Not very; four leagues."
"Four leagues! That is a voyage."
The fisherman laughed in M. Agnan's face.
"Hear me, then," said the latter with an air of simple
stupidity; four leagues off you lose sight of land, do you
not?"
"Why, not always."
"Ah, it is a long way -- too long, or else I would have
asked you to take me aboard, and to show me what I have
never seen."
"What is that?"
"A live sea-fish."
"Monsieur comes from the province?" said a fisherman.
"Yes, I come from Paris."
The Breton shrugged his shoulders; then:
"Have you ever seen M. Fouquet in Paris?" asked he.
"Often," replied D'Artagnan.
"Often!" repeated the fishermen, closing their circle round
the Parisian. "Do you know him?"
"A little, he is the intimate friend of my master."
"Ah!" said the fisherman, in astonishment.
"And," said D'Artagnan, "I have seen all his chateaux of
Saint-Mande, of Vaux, and his hotel in Paris."
"Is that a fine place?"
"Superb."
"It is not so fine a place as Belle-Isle," said the
fisherman.
"Bah!" cried M. d'Artagnan, breaking into a laugh so loud
that he angered all his auditors.
"It is very plain that you have never seen Belle-Isle," said
the most curious of the fishermen. "Do you know that there
are six leagues of it, and that there are such trees on it
as cannot be equaled even at Nantes-sur-le-Fosse?"
"Trees in the sea!" cried D'Artagnan; "well, I should like
to see them."
"That can be easily done; we are fishing at the Isle de
Hoedic -- come with us. From that place you will see, as a
Paradise, the black trees of Belle-Isle against the sky; you
will see the white line of the castle, which cuts the
horizon of the sea like a blade."
"Oh," said D'Artagnan, "that must be very beautiful. But do
you know there are a hundred belfries at M. Fouquet's
chateau of Vaux?"
The Breton raised his head in profound admiration, but he
was not convinced. "A hundred belfries! Ah that may be, but
Belle-Isle is finer than that. Should you like to see
Belle-Isle?"
"Is that possible?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Yes, with permission of the governor."
"But I do not know the governor."
"As you know M. Fouquet, you can tell your name."
"Oh, my friends, I am not a gentleman."
"Everybody enters Belle-Isle," continued the fisherman in
his strong, pure language, "provided he means no harm to
Belle-Isle or its master."
A slight shudder crept over the body of the musketeer.
"That is true," thought he. Then recovering himself, "If I
were sure," said he, "not to be sea-sick."
"What, upon her?" said the fisherman, pointing with pride to
his pretty round-bottomed bark.
"Well, you almost persuade me," cried M. Agnan; "I will go
and see Belle-Isle, but they will not admit me."
"We shall enter, safe enough."
"You! What for?"
"Why, dame! to sell fish to the corsairs."
"Ha! Corsairs -- what do you mean?"
"Well, I mean that M. Fouquet is having two corsairs built
to chase the Dutch and the English, and we sell our fish to
the crews of those little vessels."
"Come, come!" said D'Artagnan to himself -- "better and
better. A printing-press, bastions, and corsairs! Well, M.
Fouquet is not an enemy to be despised, as I presumed to
fancy. He is worth the trouble of traveling to see him
nearer."
"We set out at half-past five," said the fisherman gravely.
"I am quite ready, and I will not leave you now." So
D'Artagnan saw the fishermen haul their barks to meet the
tide with a windlass. The sea rose, M. Agnan allowed himself
to be hoisted on board, not without sporting a little fear
and awkwardness, to the amusement of the young beach-urchins
who watched him with their large intelligent eyes. He laid
himself down upon a folded sail, not interfering with
anything whilst the bark prepared for sea; and, with its
large, square sail, it was fairly out within two hours. The
fishermen, who prosecuted their occupation as they
proceeded, did not perceive that their passenger had not
become pale, neither groaned nor suffered; that in spite of
that horrible tossing and rolling of the bark, to which no
hand imparted direction, the novice passenger had preserved
his presence of mind and his appetite. They fished, and
their fishing was sufficiently fortunate. To lines bated
with prawn, soles came, with numerous gambols, to bite. Two
nets had already been broken by the immense weight of
congers and haddocks; three sea-eels plowed the hold with
their slimy folds and their dying contortions. D'Artagnan
brought them good luck; they told him so. The soldier found
the occupation so pleasant, that he put his hand to the work
-- that is to say, to the lines -- and uttered roars of joy,
and mordioux enough to have astonished his musketeers
themselves every time that a shock given to his line by the
captured fish required the play of the muscles of his arm,
and the employment of his best dexterity. The party of
pleasure had made him forget his diplomatic mission. He was
struggling with a very large conger, and holding fast with
one hand to the side of the vessel, in order to seize with
the other the gaping jowl of his antagonist, when the master
said to him, "Take care they don't see you from Belle-Isle!"
These words produced the same effect upon D'Artagnan as the
hissing of the first bullet on a day of battle; he let go of
both line and conger, which, dragging each other, returned
again to the water. D'Artagnan perceived, within half a
league at most, the blue and marked profile of the rocks of
Belle-Isle, dominated by the majestic whiteness of the
castle. In the distance, the land with its forests and
verdant plains; cattle on the grass. This was what first
attracted the attention of the musketeer. The sun darted its
rays of gold upon the sea, raising a shining mist round this
enchanted isle. Little could be seen of it, owing to this
dazzling light, but the salient points; every shadow was
strongly marked, and cut with bands of darkness the luminous
fields and walls. "Eh! eh!" said D'Artagnan, at the aspect
of those masses of black rocks, "these are fortifications
which do not stand in need of any engineer to render a
landing difficult. How the devil can a landing be effected
on that isle which God has defended so completely?"
"This way," replied the patron of the bark, changing the
sail, and impressing upon the rudder a twist which turned
the boat in the direction of a pretty little port, quite
coquettish, round, and newly battlemented.
"What the devil do I see yonder?" said D'Artagnan.
"You see Leomaria," replied the fisherman.
"Well, but there?"
"That is Bragos."
"And further on?"
"Sanger, and then the palace."
"Mordioux! It is a world. Ah! there are some soldiers."
"There are seventeen hundred men in Belle-Isle, monsieur,"
replied the fisherman, proudly. "Do you know that the least
garrison is of twenty companies of infantry?"
"Mordioux!" cried D'Artagnan, stamping with his foot. "His
Majesty was right enough."
They landed.
